


When all this gets old

by abrighteryellow



Series: High enough for you to pull me under [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Clubbing, Dirty Dancing, First Meetings, Fluff and Smut, Grinding, Hand Jobs, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I objectify Liam A LOT, Liam has moves, M/M, Nick doesn't know he wants a boyfriend, OT5 Friendship, Porn with Feelings, Porn with some plot, Sorry Not Sorry, This one's for you Payneshaw stans, Timestamp, side Larry obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 00:16:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16051532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abrighteryellow/pseuds/abrighteryellow
Summary: “I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday,” Nick says, eyes trailing down to the sash. “As long as that’s not false advertising.”That earns him a smile, the guy looking down at his chest and then back at Nick.“Bloody stupid, I know. The lads…” he trails off, looking fond. “Anyway, cheers.”With that, he turns to go. It doesn’t feel like rejection; Nick gets the sense that the birthday girl doesn’t even realize she’s being chatted up.“Fancy a drink?” Nick calls before the guy can get too far.Nick is restless. Liam’s turning 21. The timestamp that precisely no one asked for.





	When all this gets old

**Author's Note:**

> Friends, I truly have no idea how I got here. Life come at you fast.
> 
> I had such an unexpectedly lovely time writing little Payneshaw moments into HEFYTPMU (can I abbreviate my own fic?) that this timestamp demanded to be written. It expands (a lot) on the epilogue description of how Liam and Nick first meet. But you absolutely do not have to have read the original work to understand this one. It stands alone.
> 
> Thank you as always to my wonderful [crinkle-eyed-boo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KimmieRocks/pseuds/crinkle-eyed-boo) and [disgruntledkittenface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgruntledkittenface/pseuds/disgruntledkittenface), who put up with my obscure shipping choices and were so supportive of this smutty, somewhat plot-less short story.
> 
> The title comes from Pat Benatar's "Love Is A Battlefield."

Nick isn’t supposed to be out right now. He’s not, not according to the stern talking to he’d given himself as he shut down his work computer for the day. 

Tomorrow is going to be mad – a company-wide “retreat” that will surely run late, be impossibly cheesy, and zap his remaining will to live. He enjoys his coworkers  _ so  _ much more when they’re not forced to sit in a circle like children and sing BBC Radio rally songs or guess one other’s Zodiac signs or whatever the fuck else HR has got planned.

It’s just  _ too  _ depressing, is the problem. The very idea of all that kumbaya-ing is what’s driven him into the arms of his favorite club, defiantly prolonging the night even though he knows quite well that morning will come regardless and lukewarm tea from a box along with it.

He’s not even particularly sure what he’s doing here. He’s not in the mood to dance, nor could he convince any of his non-work friends to strap on something sexy and come keep him company. (He’ll be seeing enough of his colleagues in the near future, thank you very much.) And the drinks aren’t even that great – less watered-down than the competition, sure, but a means to an end all the same.

It’s proper weird that there’s something soothing to him about the throbbing bass and cock-eyed strobe lights, the friendly drunk girls who never fail to compliment his blouses, and even this very feeling, that coming here was a poor life decision made by a man who will settle down on pain of death.

It’s just for a little while anyway. Just until he’s sufficiently dunked in vodka – enough that he’ll drift off as soon as he hits his pillow, but not so much that he ends up pounding on the door of the closed chip shop on his street at three in the morning, desperate for grease and salt. For the third time this year.

All Nick knows for sure is that he absolutely can’t bring anybody home tonight. He is forbidden to pick anybody up at this club. He is  _ not here to pull– _

Oh.

He’s seen a few obvious lads’ nights roll through the doors already, but none this gorgeous. There are four – no, five of them, shirts lined with August sweat, packed together like a bunch of overgrown puppies.

Okay, so the pulling thing isn’t a rule, it’s more of a guideline.

He has to look  _ somewhere, _ right? So what if it’s at them? It’s only creepy if he stares too long. If one of them notices, say, for instance, the one with the fluffy brown hair and the cheetah print t-shirt, who’s looking at him right now, oh Jesus.

Nick drops his eyes to his vodka soda, but he’s not quick enough. When he dares look back up, the fluffy-haired bloke is smirking at him... in a not  _ un _ attractive way. Which is interesting for about two seconds – the two seconds before Nick notices the equally pretty but preppier fellow beside him and how his fingertips dig into Fluffy’s waist, as if he’s worried one of them will get lost. He doesn’t seem to have noticed Nick somewhat blatantly checking out his boyfriend, and good news there. He looks the scrappy type.

But it’s a good sign regarding the rest of them, as this isn’t  _ strictly  _ a gay bar. And as he’s already been caught looking, he may as well bang on.

The young lovers are in whispered conversation now, Fluffy having made the point that Nick was not as subtle as he’d hoped. Cheeky. 

The rest of them look a little rowdier, up for a good time, and ideally, much more single. Nick’s heart goes out to the bottle blonde in the baseball shirt, and he silently wishes him a speedy exit from that phase. He’s momentarily mesmerized by his dark and handsome friend, who looks cheerful enough, but still the type to prop up the wall with a drink in his hand for the whole of the night, content to bless the room with his presence.

And trailing just behind is the fittest man Nick has ever seen. And he’s seen some fit ones.

He’d have to be, for Nick to notice his face first – or his eyes, to be precise. They’re brown, soulful, and kind-looking, under a strong brow and above a rather sexy smile. It’s no stretch of the imagination to picture him fixing a sink or changing the oil in a car, M&S vest drenched in sweat and dotted with oil. Not too much, though. Just dirty enough to keep it interesting.

Nick presses his glass to his cheek briefly, the condensation cool on his skin.

Because it’s not just any guy who’ll walk into the club wearing a satin sash proclaiming that he is the “Birthday Girl.” The brown-eyed bloke adjusts the banner self-consciously as he moves, and Nick takes in the way the shiny fabric is pulled taut across his torso, intended to be worn by someone not quite so, well, large. How did he get into it, even, and how – more importantly – will he get out?

The rest of the entourage forgotten, Nick watches just him, this fraternity president of a man. His smile stretches wider every time one of his mates looks at him, clearly not bothered that they made him proclaim his birthday status to all of London. He bobs his head earnestly to the beat of the music, so unlike the other guys who come in here ready to be unimpressed, confusing aloofness with masculinity.

The whole crew bears right at the corner of the dance floor, offering Nick the closer look he both needed and was hoping against hope he could avoid. Fluffy and Preppy are passing just in front of the toe of his Chelsea boot when Nick gets a load of the fetching sprinkle of chest hair nestled between what could reasonably called be cleavage and the pink-ish rim around the birthday girl’s pretty eyes – conclusive evidence of pregaming.

Half a moment passes, and Nick is plotting to let the gents get settled and perhaps chat up the birthday girl later, if there’s an opportunity. But then the blonde one says something that’s apparently hilarious, and the obscenely fit one laughs so hard that his eyes nearly close. And before Nick can get it back under his control, his hand is moving away from his person. He would like to know who’s driving please, because next he’s hooking his index finger under the sash, catching it between the satin and the muscle right below the guy’s shoulder blade — whatever that’s called.

Not the smoothest move, possibly. The birthday girl falters for a beat, forward motion impeded by Nick’s interference. (Which, he can’t take it back now, so he leaves his finger where it is.) Physics compel the guy backwards, walking back on his heels until he’s parallel with Nick’s bar stool. His brow contracts, which makes him look like a confused bear cub, and so, Nick can’t bring himself to feel sorry.

The guy’s gaze darts from Nick’s hand – retreating now, mission accomplished – to his eyes, and Nick’s heart rate ticks up a notch when they meet. But the corners of his mouth curve downwards as he looks at him expectantly. And Nick’s almost offended until he realizes how ambiguous that gesture was. The fit bloke could easily assume Nick wanted to fight him, not palm his bare abs like a basketball. 

Right. Must clarify.

“Alright?” Nick drawls, trying to strike a balance between nonchalance and “I’m actually not a homophobic chav who’s going to punch you in the face.”

“Alright,” the guys confirms, still suspicious.

“I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday,” Nick says, eyes trailing down to the sash. “As long as that’s not false advertising.”

That earns him a smile, the guy looking down at his chest and then back at Nick. 

“Bloody stupid, I know. The lads…” he trails off, looking fond. “Anyway, cheers.”

With that, he turns to go. It doesn’t feel like rejection; Nick gets the sense that the birthday girl doesn’t even realize she’s being chatted up.

“Fancy a drink?” Nick calls before the guy can get too far. 

His outburst has its intended effect in that the fit guy stops in his tracks. What Nick hadn’t anticipated was the whole lot turning around to see what’s going on. He wasn’t exactly hoping for an audience, but at least the other four look pleased; the preppy’s one’s smile is positively wry as he looks from Nick to his friend, whose mouth hangs slightly open.

Nick sits up a little taller in his stool to meet their scrutiny, but keeps his eyes on what he wants.

“Just one drink, love,” he tries again, dragging his fingertip around the rim of his glass. “I’ll have you back to your mates in no time.”

It finally clicks in, the guy’s expression shifting from puzzlement to interest. And bless this big lug for not assuming that everyone everywhere is trying to get into his rather tight jeans. And they are, surely. 

The blonde one actually,  _ physically _ pushes him forward, and the birthday girl stumbles a few steps closer to Nick. 

“Have fun, pumpkin!” the preppy one calls as the rest resume walking. “We’ll be right back here if you need us.” His boyfriend giggles and throws an arm around his neck.

Dark and handsome claps the fit one on the shoulder, the last one to pass. And then they’re alone.

Well, as alone as two people can be at 11pm in a club that’s only slightly past its prime.

“Well, then,” Nick smirks, hardly believing his luck.

There isn’t an empty stool for his new companion, which isn’t a terrible thing. With him still standing, Nick has the perfect vantage point from which to appreciate the golden brown skin of his upper chest and forearms, not to mention the way his jeans hang deliciously low on his waist. He smells nice, too – like a whiskey distillery in the middle of an enchanted forest.

“Liam,” the guy says. He holds out his hand to be shaken, as if he wasn’t endearing enough already.

“Nick,” he answers, sliding his hand into Liam’s (hello) formidable grip. “Lovely to meet you, Liam. What’ll you have?”

“Oh, ah.” Liam scratches at the back of his neck after letting Nick’s hand go, looking surprised to have been asked this question. “Just a pint?”

Figures. And yet…

“A pint? It’s your  _ birthday, _ isn’t it?” Nick ribs. “Surely we can do better than that.”

Liam grins sheepishly and, oh. It’s a lot. 

“I’ll have what you’re having then.”

“We can do better than that, too.” Nick winks at Liam, because he’s already made himself ridiculous, then flags down the bartender. Liam draws closer in an attempt to hear what Nick is asking her for – so close that when Nick turns back to face him, he can see a hint of razor burn on Liam’s neck. There are some products he can recommend, he thinks offhandedly. Moderately priced.

“What’s she making?” Liam asks, nodding down the bar.

“A birthday girl specialty.” Nick pinches the sash between his fingers, careful this time not to graze Liam’s body, solid and radiating heat though it is. “Trust me.”

Liam doesn’t move away from the touch, which Nick takes as encouragement. “Don’t know if I do, actually.”

“Ouch,” Nick teases, holding his hand to his heart. “And what have I done to deserve this?”

“Don’t take it personally. Got a thing about handsome strangers, I suppose.”

Nick matches Liam’s smile, contented with that description. “Well, I can promise you this: my intentions are perfectly terrible.”

The bartender sets a drink in front of Nick that’s the color of sunshine. He puts it in Liam’s hand, then raises his to clink them together. 

“She does this pineapple thing. Dunno what it’s called, but it’s amazing.”

Liam closes his mouth around the rim of the glass and takes a sip, holding Nick’s gaze the whole time. (Lord.)

“Well?”

“Sweet,” Liam answers, and Nick wonders what it would be like to run his tongue over Liam’s moistened bottom lip.

The woman sitting next to Nick finally gets up, and Liam swiftly takes her seat. Their knees knock together as he gets settled and Nick turns to face him. He waves to someone over Nick’s shoulder, and Nick knows he’s passed the first level creep test. 

“Friends a bit protective?” He leans forward, pressing his thumb into Liam’s knee.

“Like having four mums,” Liam confirms. “What about you? Here on your own?”

“Tonight, yeah.” For some reason, Nick actually cares that this guy knows that he didn’t come here to hit on anyone. “Weird week at work. I just didn’t want to go home to the quiet, you know?”

“Makes sense.” Liam nods. “Not that I get any quiet ever, but I know what you mean.”

“Flatmates?” Nick asks.

“Yeah, one. Louis? The guy in the stripes. And his boyfriend Harry is usually over too, which is fine, ’cause we’re also mates.”

“Buuuut?” Nick prompts.

Liam smirks, happy to be egged on. “Lovely guys, but Jesus, are they loud. I have to leave if I’m even thinking about revising.”

“I live alone, myself,” Nick offers, with absolutely zero ulterior motive. “But I miss the chaos of uni sometimes, to be honest. Get nostalgic every time I see a stale slice of pizza.”

“And what do you do now?”

Nick takes another sip of his drink. “I’m an intern at BBC Radio?”

Not that impressive, really, but Liam’s jaw drops anyway. 

“You’re kidding.”

“No?”

“I listen to Radio 1  _ all the time,” _ he enthuses, which Nick finds hopelessly sweet. “I’m proper obsessed. Studying music theory in school, actually.”

“Maybe we’ll be playing your songs one day, then,” Nick says, to which Liam smiles bashfully.  _ (Bashfully.  _ Where did this person come from?)

“I think I want to work on the production side actually?” he clarifies. “Maybe you’ll play one of my artists though.”

“It would be my honor,” Nick says, lifting his glass ceremoniously.

But after half an hour of chatting about families and friends, movies and music, he starts to feel a bit guilty. It’s the poor boy’s birthday party, and Nick had stolen him from his friends the moment he walked through the door. And as gloriously as that’s worked out – Liam is as disarming as he is hot, and all signs point to him being interested in Nick as well – Nick prepares himself to make peace with the fact that he can’t monopolize his entire night. 

So when Liam is finished with the story about Louis getting locked on the balcony for an hour in just his old-man bathrobe, Nick interrupts.

“I really do think,” he says mournfully. “I should deliver you back to your lads.”

“Oh,” Liam responds, eyes going wide. “If that’s what you want.”

“Love, no.” Nick grasps his forearm and, christ, that shit is like iron. “I’m not trying to get rid of you, like. I just feel bad! I took you away from them. And on your birthday? They’re celebrating you without  _ you.” _

Liam cranes his neck around Nick, probably to get eyes on his friends.

“Reckon you’re right. Though they didn’t seem  _ that  _ upset to get rid of me, did they?”

“Or maybe they just have impeccable judgment when it comes to men you should be speaking to.” Nick waggles his eyebrows, because it’s just so much  _ fun  _ to flirt with this guy.

Liam rolls his eyes, but in an “oh, you” sort of way. 

“Tell you what. Let’s get two more, and then we can go join them?”

“We?” Nick clarifies, putting weight on the word.

“Obviously, yeah.” Liam raises his index finger to get the bartender’s attention. “Like you say, it’s my birthday. I make the rules.”

He’s not even looking at Nick when he says it, and still, Nick’s cock stiffens in interest. The concept of Liam voicing what he wants and then getting it? Nick would be proud to be a part of it. At the very least, he knows their night isn’t coming to an end right now. Behind Liam’s back, he pulls at the thigh of his jeans to give himself a little relief. 

Liam gets two of the pineapple cocktails, taking Nick’s empty vodka soda out of his hand and meeting his protests with a shameless display of puppy dog eyes that renders Nick powerless. He still insists on paying, though. The intern take-home may not be much, but he’s not a starving uni student.

As they leave their bubble behind and make their way to the group, Nick tries to let go of whatever expectations he’s built up. Liam and his mates could leave and head to another spot. Or someone else might catch his eye here. Liam’s young, he’s built as hell, and he’s entitled to a little fun. But Nick is going to enjoy this bit while it lasts. He wanted a distraction, and he certainly got one.

Liam does the full round of introductions once they’re all together, even though he has to shout over the music and repeat Nick’s name and primary details a few times. There’s quite a bit of smirking, especially from Louis – the stripes one – but on the whole, they don’t seem to resent Nick crashing their party. Talking at length isn’t the most realistic possibility here on the dance floor, however, so he mainly has to take Liam’s word for it. His own contributions to the conversations are primarily smiling and nodding as the close-knit group trade jokes that can be communicated almost silently.

He’s a solid three cocktails in when Nick feels Liam slide behind him and slip a couple of fingers into the belt loop at his side. He’s loose and happy, so it only throws Nick off for half a second before he’s rocking his hips back and forth to the music again, daring to let his weight fall back into Liam a bit. They’re about the same height, which means that Liam’s stubble drags across Nick’s cheek when he dives in to whisper in his ear.

“Gotcha.”

It’s a perfect parallel to Nick’s sash move, and the subtle shift in their fledgling dynamic sends a thrill right through him. Nick had just assumed Liam was exactly what he appeared to be — this sweet, humble guy, relishing the way his mates lovingly tease him and requiring Nick to practically flash a neon sign to prove that he was making a pass at him. He’d also assumed that he’d take the reins here – respecting Liam’s wishes, of course, but bringing the birthday girl out of her shell a bit. Not necessary, as it turns out, considering the way Liam is controlling things now, caging Nick’s body into his own, making sure that neither of them can move a muscle without the other one feeling it. The idea that Liam could be both of those things – and possibly even more – makes Nick a bit lightheaded.

And from that point on, he can’t bring himself to give a god’s honest fuck who’s smirking or who’s whispering or who’s taking photos with their cameraphone that’ll be used to torment Liam later. How could any of that compete with the fact that Captain bloody America (with a slight Northern accent) is grinding his pelvis into Nick’s arse?

He’d have to be the most oblivious person in the world not to feel that Liam is at least half hard against him already. As punishment for taking his upper hand away, Nick pops his tailbone back and rolls his hips in a slow circle, relishing Liam’s sharp intake of breath and the tightening of his grip on either side of Nick’s waistband. There. Well more than half hard.

Liam is everywhere, all around him, yet Nick manages to spin himself around in a tight half circle until they’re face to face. He slides his arms over Liam’s shoulders, affecting his most blase expression, daring even to look out over the rest of the dance floor for a moment. And it works, it all works. Liam sticks out his lower lip in a devastating pout, plants his hands right at the top curve of Nick’s arse, and tugs him closer, until they’re flush from chest to thighs.

Nick is fairly certain that there must be some kind of public decency law that they’re breaking, or maybe it feels filthier than it looks. Trapped below denim as they are, their cocks graze against each other every time they swivel their lower bodies, and it’s swiftly becoming a problem Nick won’t be able to control. Game over, won, and in the post-show, he chances a look into Liam’s eyes and finds his pupils blown to hell, teeth sinking into that damned pouty lip. Nick is about to drag him by the sash into the nearest toilet when something vibrates against his upper thigh, too close to his dick to be strictly polite.

“Fuck.” Liam startles, extricates himself from Nick the necessary amount, and goes scrambling for the phone in his pocket. When he sees whatever the notification is, he lets his arms flap dramatically to the side, then whirls around looking for someone. Nick follows his gaze as it lands on Louis, standing at the edge of the dance floor and holding up his own phone triumphantly. And as he’s never said he was anything but a nosy bastard, Nick also rises to his tip toes so he can see Liam’s screen from above. 

It’s an Uber gift card for 20 pounds. In the notes section are three eggplant emojis, two peach emojis, the water droplets, and one tongue.

“Wanker!” Liam shouts over the music. Louis mimes that he can’t hear him, though his shit-eating grin suggests otherwise.

He pockets his phone and turns back to Nick, amiable and gentlemanly Liam from before reappearing. 

“Sorry about that,” he says. “He thinks he’s funny.”

“Oh, so do I,” Nick laughs.

Liam claps his hand over his eyes and groans. And it’s too adorable for Nick to stand, that the guy who was just dry-humping him in public is actually embarrassed that his mate alluded to them going home together. Chuckling softly, he reaches up and encircles his fingers around Liam’s wrist, pulling his hand away from his face. Liam squints his eyes shut, then opens one experimentally. 

That’s it, this boy is going to kill him. Which wouldn’t be a bad excuse for skipping retreat.

Nick adjusts his grip until he’s grasping Liam’s palm, then traps their connected hands against the curve of Liam’s lower back so they’re chest-to-chest once more.

“I like him,” Nick murmurs. “Like you more, though.” 

Liam grins, and Nick pushes forward a few inches to capture it.

He’d thought it would be good, after all this build up, but it’s even better than he expected. Liam’s lips are warm and responsive, and he chases Nick’s like he’s going anywhere, like he has anywhere better to be than here. The arm that isn’t behind his back snakes around Nick’s waist, Nick’s free hand sneaking under Liam’s open grey denim button-down, sliding over the smooth, heated skin of his shoulder.

He would coax it all the way off, if it weren’t for the fucking sash. 

Liam glides his tongue across the seam of his lips and Nick is more than willing to grant that request. Because it turns out that Liam kisses just the way Nick likes it – deep and slow and searching, building up an ache that could be just as satisfying if it were left unattended to. Not that Nick has any intention of that, but still.

The kiss gets shallower as it tapers off, Nick supremely aware of his cock straining away against his jeans and having a bit of sympathy for Liam’s similar predicament as well.

He can’t help it though. When he at long last releases Liam’s hand, Nick lets his fingertips trail across the distinct bulge in Liam’s jeans as he pulls it away, then watches in victory as he screws his face up in agony. 

It does nothing to help their worsening predicament. But, in his defense, it was fun.

Nick isn’t really sure what this is, and he long ago made a promise to himself not to make any major life decisions whenever his dick might have too much say. But in his mind, he’s already broken his vague, not-really-a-rule rule tonight, with Liam. To the untrained eye and ear, it might seem like they learned only the most basic facts about each other before going full Kellerman’s staff party, but that’s all been a conversation too. Nick is learning when Liam likes to push and when he wants to be pulled – and that he’s quite into the combination of those two things in general. And Nick has been awkwardly rutted into enough on this very dance floor to know that this – the chemistry between them, the vibe, whatever the fuck you want to call it – isn’t a guarantee, even when you’re into somebody. So, yes, there’s a spark in his belly that pretty clearly signifies that he wants to come on or around Liam’s person tonight. But there’s a matching glimmer that’s higher, burning away in his chest, which  _ might  _ mean that he’d also like to know what Liam thinks about prawns and pattern mixing and the Sam Smith album and the existence of true, lasting love. (Really, he disgusts himself sometimes.)

His guilt about “ruining” the boy’s birthday a mere memory, Nick is about to beg Liam to get serious about an escape plan. But then someone standing next to them shouts “OI!” and there’s a pair of green eyes in his face.

“We’re gonna go,” Harry announces, looking first at Liam, then turning quickly to Nick and winking at him. “Niall won’t shut the fuck up about pizza.”

Liam takes a moment to register that Harry’s even there, and Nick mentally pats himself on the back for the dazed look on his face. 

Still, Harry seems to require a response, one way or the other. So Nick squeezes Liam’s side firmly but gently. It gets the point across.

Liam tears his eyes away from Nick’s mouth and looks at Harry. “Okay,” he says, blankly.

“‘Okay, fuck off’? Or ‘okay, I’ll take two plain’?”

“I’m staying here,” Liam clarifies, eyes burning into Nick’s. Nick’s mouth goes dry at both the intensity of Liam’s expression and his blunt declaration.

“Cool,” Harry chirps, darting in to leave a peck on his cheek. “Love you, Lima. Be safe!”

The lads file out after him, clapping Liam’s back and stage-whispering encouragements in his ear as they go. It leaves Nick with nothing left to wonder about, and it’s what he wants too –  _ obviously,  _ his body is making that abundantly clear. But there’s always something dreadfully wonderful about that point of no return that drives him to try to diffuse the tension, delicious as it is. He doesn’t  _ mean  _ to, it just happens. 

“Aw,  _ Lima,” _ he teases, once they’re gone. Nick playfully walks his fingers up Liam’s firm chest, then pinches his cheek where Harry’d kissed it. “That’s sweet, innit?”

Liam rests his forearms on Nick’s shoulders and stares at him with hooded eyes, refusing to let the mood lighten. “Is that really what you want to talk about?”

It isn’t. It really,  _ really _ isn’t.

“You could have gone with them, you know,” Nick says, smoothing his palms over either side of Liam’s waist and then holding on. “I’m not easily offended.”

“There is no way,” Liam responds, deadly serious, “that I’m listening to someone else have sex tonight. And those two go at it like you wouldn’t believe.”

And, okay. Maybe Nick should care that he might just be the birthday shag that everyone – including Liam – is entitled to every year. Perhaps that’ll come tomorrow, if he wakes up and Liam hasn’t even left a sock behind. There’s always time for regret later, that’s his motto. But it’s not exactly weighing on his mind right now, with Liam’s thick but dextrous fingers lodged in the sweaty curls at the nape of his neck, the thumb of his other hand tracing Nick’s jaw. Anyway. Everyone’s just a warm body until they’re more than that.

If Liam’s out for a good time, then Nick is bloody well going to give him one. He surges back into his space and kisses him again – this time it’s open and wet from the start. But he first lands a quarter of an inch below his target, sucking Liam’s plump lower lip into his mouth and biting down on it lightly. Liam responds in a manner Nick would call positive, winding his arms behind Nick’s back and squeezing his arse with both hands on a groan. They separate briefly, reconnecting at another angle to snog properly. Liam pulls Nick in until their lower bellies are crushed together. The pressure of the kiss is perfect and devastating, especially since Nick can tell from the way their tongues crash together just how compatible they’d be doing other things. Will be, if he has anything to say about it.

And it’s too much. Again. Just as quickly. 

Not that his arousal receded much with Harry’s interruption, but he’s now officially in an inappropriate and unsustainable state. Nick wrenches his lips away from Liam’s, which has the side effect of rather flagrantly presenting his neck.

“Liam,” he says with determination. Liam ignores him, mouthing at the highest part of Nick’s collarbone, his slight beard scraping across the delicate skin there. “ _ Li,”  _ he tries again, this time on an involuntary whine.

Liam finally draws back, brown eyes almost black and chest heaving. Would it really be so bad if Nick reached into his jeans and pulled him off right here?

He does want to show his face in this club again someday. (Next week?) So, sadly not a real option.

“We have to  _ go, _ ” Nick explains, as if he were speaking to a child. “Unless your birthday wish is for me to come in my trousers before I can get my hands on you.” (Okay, ideally not a child.)

“Can we go back to yours?” Liam asks. Nick’s blood sings, drowning out the teeny, tiny part of him that had been wondering if Liam were the kind of guy to work him up then lose interest and fuck off home.

“Abso-fucking-lutely, love.”

Nick grabs Liam’s hand and pulls him towards the exit, thankful for the darkness and the tightness of their jeans for not giving every other patron in here a show that they didn’t ask for.

They’re still palm-to-palm when they spill out onto the sidewalk and when Nick turns to Liam to ask about that Uber credit. The words catch in his throat before he can say them, however.

It’s not daylight by any means, but it’s so much brighter under the street lamps than it was in the club. And everything about Liam is more intense than it was too. His eyes crinkle more at the outside corners than Nick could actually see inside. The valley of his sternum is deeper; the muscle definition of his abdomen more discernible under his vest. And he’s looking at Nick with appreciation and reverence, like he’s won some sort of contest.

They’re backtracking again, but Nick can’t stop himself. He tugs on Liam’s hand and catches his face with the other, planting a sweeter, softer kiss on him than any they’ve shared up until this point. Then he maneuvers the hand that was on Liam’s cheek around and down to his back pocket, sliding his phone out of his jeans as their lips separate with a smack. 

“Call the bloody car,” he says, dropping the phone into Liam’s hands.

Liam smirks, glancing down at the phone and then looking back up at Nick through his eyelashes. It’s hot, but not nearly as hot as the way his fingers tremble a little as he swipes it open. The idea that even a relatively chaste kiss with Nick has that effect on him makes Nick fervently wish that their Uber driver were an amateur drag racer or similar.

“Need your address,” Liam says, passing the phone back to Nick, who purposely brushes his knuckles against the pads of Liam’s fingertips during the exchange. “If that’s still okay.”

Nick types in his street and house number, hits “Request Ride,” and gives it back, repeating his move and noting how Liam shivers at the contact. “If you’re planning on stalking me after this, please know that I prefer extravagant gifts – the creepier and more posh the better.”

“Okay, so not, like, dead animals?” Liam asks with faux sincerity.

“If those dead animals come in the form of a leather jacket, then certainly.”

Grinning, Liam dips two fingers into the front pocket of Nick’s jeans and pulls him close again, sliding his other hand up Nick’s back. “Starving uni student, remember?”

And, well. His eyes are a bit sparkly out here under the stars, aren’t they?

“Perhaps a homemade card, then?” Nick whispers, his bit running out of steam with Liam’s length trapped against his thigh.

Liam leans in and touches Nick’s lips lightly with his own – so lightly that when his phone pings and he pulls away to check it, Nick wonders if he’d imagined it.

“He’s nearly here,” Liam announces, and so he is. 

To be honest, Nick loves this part. He loves crowding onto the tube or crawling into the backseat of a car with a person when the moment is right and the want is shared. He loves that thrum of energy and possibility, the lingering nerves making everything feel amplified by about a hundred. 

The urgency that had subsided a bit once they made their decision and left the club is back. Liam hasn’t said anything and neither has he, but Nick can feel it. And nothing was really stopping them from mounting each other the second they shut the car door. It’s well established that neither of them is by any means  _ shy, _ so they’re not purposely sparing the driver. But some unspoken agreement not to touch instantly passed between them, and Nick understands that the narrow valley of leather interior between them is there for a reason. 

Neither of them gets out their phone as the car rumbles through the city. Instead they sit in silence, the tension making Nick feel almost liquid. The only reason to stare out the window instead of at the shadows moving across Liam’s face would be to spare himself, but that sort of defeats the purpose. So he lets himself look, his fingers tracing the seam running along his own inner thigh as he does.

The unspoken agreement was about touching  _ each other, _ okay? 

Nick watches Liam’s gaze travel from Nick’s face to his lap, following the movement, up and down, up and down. He lets his own hand drop to the space between his thighs, and it’s lax at first, fingers curling against the seat. But the next time Nick’s hand glances against his fly, Liam flattens his, palming his cock through his jeans and hissing quietly through his teeth.

“Fuck,” Nick breathes, eyes going wide.

Their eyes lock, the meat of Liam’s palm still pressing against his erection, and Nick feels a red hot flush spread from his chest up to his neck. The car stops for a traffic signal, and his fingers twitch against his leg. How easy it would be to reach over and cover Liam’s hand with his own, helping him find the friction that he’s chasing.

It’s against the rules of the game though. And perhaps despite appearances, Nick is a good sport.

So he drums the knuckles of his other hand onto the armrest, just to have something to do besides slowly dying inside. Is it better or worse to think about how all this withholding is shoring up desire within the both of them? Rocket launches have counted down with less anticipation.

Nick tries to focus on the late night radio host empathizing with a caller over her recent breakup instead of the soft sound of Liam’s lust-labored breathing next to him. It feels like someone plucked his flat from its rather convenient location and dropped it somewhere in Yorkshire. Either that or his nan is driving this car disguised as a burly Welshman.

Blessedly, they finally turn down Nick’s street, and never in his whole life has he been so happy to see it. Well, maybe after that long weekend in Ibiza with the sunburn and the vomiting and the two-day disappearance of his passport. He lost his favorite pair of shoes, as well.

Nick unclips his seatbelt before the car slows, past caring about seeming eager. (He  _ is  _ eager, what of it?) Then he leans over into Liam’s space, surrounded again by the heady combination of sweat and his woodsy cologne. Hovering over him and looking right into his eyes, Nick presses the button on his seatbelt. Before it releases, the belt pulls tight, low on Liam’s hips. He gasps faintly, and Nick smiles in victory.

“Sorry. Bit sensitive?” he asks, barely controlling his Cheshire Cat grin.

“Hilarious,” Liam deadpans, which is a bit of a feat given their current situation. “Can we get out, please?”

Nick’s smile dials down to a smirk. “Deserved it.”

He stretches his body even further across the seat – if he swung a leg around, he’d be straddling Liam’s lap. And it’s an option worth considering. Liam’s knees are spread carelessly wide, and while the swaggering way he takes up space would be unforgivable on the tube, here it makes Nick want to literally climb him, to turn him into his own personal playground. (In a  _ respectful  _ way, of course.)

But instead of following his instinct to cage Liam’s hips in with his thighs and grind down onto his lap, Nick stays safely above him and pulls the handle on the car door. The interior lights click on just as he turns his face back to Liam’s, and there’s that inconvenient heart spark again. Despite the drink and the franticness, Liam is a hundred percent open and present, if his chiseled visage is to be believed. Nick has had his share of frenzied, quasi-anonymous hookups, and he’ll never be ashamed of any of them. But it’s intoxicating, Liam’s way of communicating through his eyes that he knows exactly what he’s doing and who he’s with.

And Nick’s dying to snog him again. His nerves are alive with it. But he fears that if he does, they’ll never leave this car and the driver will just have to abandon it and start a whole new life. So he plops back down next to Liam and nudges him with his hip, adding an unnecessary “out you go.” Once he’s on the pavement, Liam grabs Nick’s hand and hauls him up and out of the car like he weighs nothing. The momentum forces Nick to steady himself as soon as he’s upright, planting both palms against Liam’s chest. It’s the tiniest bit embarrassing, to be teetering about in the manner of a Victorian waif, but he lets his hands stay where they are anyway.

“Hello,” Liam whispers, smiling softly. Because Nick has somehow wandered into  _ While You Were _ Bloody _ Sleeping. _

“How are you  _ real?” _ he asks, fisting one hand into Liam’s button-down and punching it lightly against his chest. He’s barely joking.

Liam scrunches his nose adorably, then inclines his head forward and licks into Nick’s mouth, just once. 

“We should probably let this guy leave,” he says, pulling away to shut the car door.

His swift change of subject is more evidence that Liam is, in fact,  _ not  _ real, but is actually some kind of sweet, hunky simulation designed and built to destroy Nick. In which case...no point fighting it.

Liam follows Nick up the walk and into the threshold of the building. He’s fishing his keys from his pocket when he feels Liam’s hands slide over his hips, and his nose nudge against the back of his neck, followed immediately by the press of his lips, deliberate and sure.

“Oh,” Nick sighs, melting back into Liam, who, naturally, supports his weight easily.

Nick may have a thing about his lips.

Somehow, he jams the key in the lock with one hand, the other moving up and around to clutch at the back of Liam’s head, holding him in place. They stumble through the door as a unit when Nick is able to unstick it (it’s not the fanciest of buildings), and he feels like a teenager again. Liam leaves open-mouthed kisses all over his neck and upper back, one hand curving around to splay over Nick’s belly as he presses the call button.

Fortunately, the tiny lift is waiting on the ground floor. Liam spins Nick around as they enter, crowding him against the wall opposite the door and diving back in to work a spot just under his jaw.

“We have to–” Nick groans as Liam lathes his tongue over the bit of skin he’d just sucked into between his teeth, “–press the button.”

Liam unlatches himself and puts a few inches between them, so Nick can hit his floor. The lift jerks up instantaneously, and Liam wastes no time in drawing close again. 

“Sorry, I’m a little bit...I don’t know, crazy right now.” Liam thrusts his hips into Nick’s and circles them, gazing hungrily at his upper body. “Been wanting this since you stopped me tonight. Couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, love,” Nick says, sliding a hand between them and under Liam’s shirt, fingers tracing each isolated muscle of his six-pack. “But I noticed. And it was really fucking hot.”

Liam smiles, then latches on to the same spot again. Nick may be about to invite a vampire into his home. And he’s not some kind of  _ Twilight _ freak or anything, but  _ everyone _ knows the rules about that.

But the door slams open with a metallic thud and Nick pushes against Liam’s abs, guiding them out into the hallway. He figures it’s worth the risk.

They make it to his flat without much incident – okay, well Liam tripped on his neighbor’s doormat and Nick actually snort-laughed about it, but nobody fell. Physically, anyway.

Nick gets the door open in record time, despite Liam’s strong hands seemingly doing everything they can to distract him. He grabs Liam by the shirt and yanks him inside, shutting the door and slamming Liam’s back against it at the same time. 

Nick cups the back of his neck with one hand and plunges his tongue back into Liam’s mouth, the fingers of his other hand popping open the button at the top of Liam’s jeans. In other circumstances, he might pause to make sure what he’s doing is okay, but he reckons that conversation already happened in the lift. So he urges Liam’s zipper down and takes a light hold of his fully hard cock through his pants, smirking when Liam pauses their kiss to suck in a little gasp of air. 

Emboldened further, Nick starts to slide down Liam’s body, holding eye contact, still barely grasping his dick. (He’s thinking about endurance here.) But he’s barely past his nipples when Liam grabs him under the arms and drags Nick back up. He’s properly offended, considering he was about to give the birthday girl the blow job of his life.

“No,” Liam states, once he has Nick back at eye level. 

“Excuse me?” Nick counters.

“I said.” Liam whirls them around until it’s Nick’s back that’s flat against his front door. “No.” 

“But it’s your birthday,” Nick argues, stupidly. Liam makes deft work of his fly, and all remaining blood in his body rushes towards Nick’s cock.

“Yeah. And I get to do what I want, right?” 

Nick nods and swallows.

“What I want,” Liam explains, matter-of-factly, “is your cock in my mouth. I like doing it, and I want to do it to you. Is that alright?”

“Jesus  _ fucking  _ Christ,” is the eloquent answer Nick lands on, after about ten seconds of processing.

That’s all the confirmation Liam needs to drop to his knees in front of him, and Nick groans at the sight of it. Involuntarily pushing his hips forward, Nick runs a hand through Liam’s hair, thick with product.

“Just...can I make one tiny request?”

Liam stops pulling Nick’s jeans down his thighs, and looks up at him curiously. He could really get used to having that face inches away from his erection, his breath ghosting over the front of Nick’s grey cotton boxer briefs.

“Take something off. Anything,” Nick says, forgetting to feel embarrassed. “Wanna see more of you.”

Liam grins, then leans in to leave a wet kiss right above the waistband of Nick’s pants. Pulling back, he grips either side of his button-down and attempts to slide it off of his back, frowning when he meets unexpected resistance.

He’s still wearing the birthday sash.

Nick watches with thinly veiled amusement as Liam tries again, this time attempting to shrug the sash off his shoulders. But he’s too damn big and it’s too tight. There’s no way he can get it over his head without nearly strangling himself, and the bottom is glued together, not tied.

“Little trouble there?” Nick smirks, because Liam looks distinctly like a gigantic puppy trying to get out of a jumper.

“I can handle this,” Liam murmurs. He gets hold of the shirt again, this time gingerly pulling one arm out of it at a time, then threading the garment through the sash and discarding it on the floor.

“Gorgeous,” Nick whispers, eye sweeping over Liam’s broad, bare shoulders. “C’mere.” 

Liam takes his offered hand and gets back to his feet. Holding eye contact, Nick grasps the edge of his white vest and starts to lift it up, an act that somehow feels more intimate than anything they’ve done so far. Taking the hint, Liam raises his arms over his head and lets Nick maneuver the thin cotton between his flushed chest and the cool satin. He takes one of Liam’s wrists and tugs it down, so he can pull his arm free. Then Nick gathers the material and pushes it up over his head and then across Liam’s other arm, finally letting it drop from his hand, leaving him topless but for the sash. 

Nick grips Liam’s forearms and shoves him away a step, so he can admire his handiwork. How could he have known when he left work today that a few hours later he’d end up in his own personal, 3D showing of  _ Magic Mike? _ How much might Liam mind if he queued up “Pony” on his phone?

The metallic white of the sash contrasts fetchingly with Liam’s tanned skin. At his breastbone, where it’s thickest, his chest hair curls over the thing, obscuring the “r” in “birthday.” More muscles than Nick knew existed ripple underneath it. And he’s becoming particularly partial to the vein popping out on Liam’s right bicep.

“I look ridiculous, right?” Liam laughs, ducking his head a bit.

“Babe,” Nick breathes, tracing the vein with his fingertip. “You look like a fantasy I didn’t even know I had.”

Nick pulls on the sash so they crash back into each other in a particularly searing kiss. Liam’s tongue is insistent, his lips lush and soft. And god must be smiling on Nick today, because he apparently lives for giving head. 

He hadn’t said it back there, and maybe he should have. But Nick feels just as wild as Liam confessed that he did. Look at him: barely inside his flat and snogging Liam for dear life, incapable of sparing a thought for the inevitable beard burn that will mark his face, neck, and hopefully thighs. And though his cock has been throbbing in his pants since Liam actually asked his permission to go down on him, Nick is going to let him kiss him for as long as wants.

But he needs to feel him too. So Nick unwinds his arms from around Liam’s waist and blindly goes searching for the few blouse buttons that stayed in tact when they plastered against each other on the dance floor, trying like hell to keep their lips connected. Liam feels him working, and without sacrificing a hint of pressure or a swipe of his tongue, bats Nick’s hand away and undoes the last one. Nick is pressed against him before the blouse hits the floor, the skin-on-skin contact speeds up their breathing, and Nick doesn’t know if it’s the pounding of his own heart that’s rattling his rib cage or if it’s Liam’s.

Having Nick half naked seems to remind Liam of where he was headed, and before Nick can miss his mouth, he’s kneeling in front of him again. In the absence of the obscene sounds of their kissing, the room feels silent and church-like. So it rings out like a bell when Liam is eye level with Nick’s groin and hitches in a breath.

Nick watches breathlessly as Liam shoves his jeans down the rest of the way, then urges Nick to lift one foot and then the other so he can fully step out of them. Liam’s gaze doesn’t shift from a few inches directly in front of him, however, and Nick flushes when he thinks about why. He’s never felt this full and heavy before. The front of his boxers are already moist with pre-come. And Liam hasn’t even touched him yet.

Liam doesn’t appear to mind. His hands slide up Nick’s legs, stopping to knead his upper thighs, thumbs barely catching the bottom hem of his boxers. He looks up at Nick through his lashes for just half a second, then drops his chin down again and wets his lips. Nick’s cock twitches underneath the cotton, and he prepares himself for the very strong possibility that this experience is going to be embarrassingly short.

Liam’s grip tightens around Nick’s legs as he leans in and opens his mouth around the cloth-covered head of Nick’s cock, the sudden heat and moisture nearly making Nick’s knees buckle. But he has no doubt that Liam could hold him up and suck his dick dry at the same time, which is something he should probably stop thinking about if he wants to last more than thirty seconds.

Taking long, even inhales and exhales, Liam mouths along Nick’s length until his boxers are messy with a combination of Liam’s saliva and Nick himself. He drops his head back against the door and moans, threading one hand into Liam’s hair, the other in an iron grip on the door knob. And it’s lovely, it really is. But Nick is desperate for more contact. Just as the coil of lust in his belly starts burning red, Liam yanks up the waistband of his boxers on one side, so the tip of Nick’s cock is exposed. He darts his tongue out and runs it over the slit, then swirls it expertly around the head. Nick hisses, and his hips jerk again.

Liam smooths a reassuring hand over Nick’s hipbone, and uses the other to tug Nick’s pants completely down until they pool around his ankles. His cock bobs up once, then Liam’s large palm encircles it, holding it steady. Eyebrows knit in concentration, he runs his thumb over to the slit to collect more pre-come, then slides his hand down the shaft, contributing to the existing slickness. He tugs a few times experimenting with speed and grip, using the sounds Nick is making as a guide. And Liam said he wasn’t a musician, but Nick knows better. His hands are calloused, the rough bits of skin you only get from guitar strings make Nick grit his teeth every time they drag over the bundle of nerves at the tip of his dick.

Without so much as a warning, Liam adjusts his position so he can lick a wide stripe on the underside of Nick’s cock, and Nick cries out before he can stop himself. Liam’s lips quirk up in a satisfied smile, which Nick catches just before his vision whites out because Liam’s taken his cockhead into his mouth and is inching down slowly, taking in as much of Nick as he possibly can.

Every fiber of his body is pulled tight and begging for mercy, and Nick has to fight to keep his eyes open, because there’s no way he’s going to fucking miss this. It’s a picture he doesn’t ever want to forget – Liam’s kiss-swollen lips wrapped around his dick, his big, brown eyes holding Nick’s gaze.

He wants to move so badly, but he’s not going to suffocate this lovely boy, whose sole birthday wish was evidently to deepthroat Nick until he sees stars. So he wills himself to stay still and collected – mainly still – but Liam must sense it. He must feel the stuttering micro-thrusts of Nick’s hips, because momentarily, he pulls off with wet pop and, in a wrecked voice, says, “You can. You can fuck my mouth.”

“Fuck, oh my god,” Nick gasps, captivated by a string of saliva connecting Liam’s lower lip to his cock. “Alright.”

He braces himself against the door and lets go of the tension that he was holding. He thrusts into Liam’s mouth slowly first, working up a steady rhythm that intensifies the ache building up in his balls. Liam wanted this, so he tries not to baby him, figuring he’ll speak up if he feels something he doesn’t like. The snap of his hips picks up speed and Nick watches with wonder as Liam takes it, his hands gripping Nick’s naked arse for stability. At one point, Nick reaches down and wipes a tear from the corner of Liam’s eye, and he can’t remember doing that for anyone before. But then he feels his cock hit the back of Liam’s throat and all conscious thought is just a memory.

“Jesus,  _ fuck,” _ Nick manages to get out. “Li, I’m gonna come.”

Liam pulls off again, in no hurry, then plants his palms on Nick’s pelvis and pushes him back against the door, holding him there. Once he’s secure, Liam sinks back down onto Nick’s cock, strokes the silky, sensitive skin where his thigh meets his groin with his thumb, and swallows, hollowing his cheeks around Nick’s length. Nick shoots hard and deep into Liam’s mouth, stars of every known and unknown color exploding behind his eyes. (See?) He stays there and swallows every last drop of come, sucking Nick down until he’s limp and tender, because, in Nick’s estimation, he’s not a human, not a sex robot, but a bloody dream come true.

Against all odds, his vision eventually refocuses, and he sees that Liam is back on his feet and watching Nick’s come-down intently. Nick could count the number of orgasms that even  _ compare  _ to that one on one hand, so Liam may be the only person on earth who knows what he looks like in such a toe-curling moment of release. Strangely, he’s okay with that.

“That was…” Nick croaks, the back of his head still resting on the door.

“You’re amazing,” Liam interrupts, taking Nick’s chin between his fingers. His mouth is glistening, his voice is fucked out, and all Nick did was barely stay upright. But “amazing,” he’ll take.

Nick’s gaze drops to find that Liam is stroking himself, his fist and his thick cock stretching out the cotton of his black briefs. Based on his enthusiastic dick sucking, it’s no surprise to see how much having his mouth on Nick turned him on. But what kind of host would Nick be if he let Liam get himself off in his own home?

“C’mon,” Nick orders. He circles his fingers around Liam’s forearm and starts to lead him further into the flat, forcing him to release his hold on his cock. Liam kicks out of his jeans as they go, following Nick down the dark hallway and into a room at the back. 

Nick flips on the light as they enter, looking back at Liam for approval. Liam nods, and then Nick is on him, snogging him senselessly, licking the bitterness of himself out of his mouth. Nick backs them up until his calves hit the bed frame, then pulls Liam down on top of him. His weight pushes Nick deliciously into the mattress, and it feels like there isn’t an inch of him that isn’t being touched. Liam is thrusting against him as their tongues twist together, the edges of the sash scratching at Nick’s chest, his cock sliding into the crease of Nick’s pelvis, hot and silken. Nick’s hands traverse the width of Liam’s broad back, then his palms slip the waistband of his briefs down below his arse. The flesh barely gives when Nick digs in his fingers, and he wildly wonders if Liam might also consent to be his personal trainer.

Liam props himself up on one hand so he has a wider range of motion. (Nick could only  _ dream  _ about having the core strength.) And if it were even humanly possible, Nick would be hard again. He slides his hand between their bodies and pinches Liam’s nipple between his thumb and forefinger, relishing the way his mouth drops into an “o” shape. 

“Drawer,” Nick manages to get out. He nods his head to the right. “That one.”

Liam registers his meaning after a second, using the hand that’s not holding him over Nick to pull said drawer open. It’s low enough that Nick can blindly reach a hand into it, feeling for the familiar shape. His fingers close around the bottle of lube and he gestures for Liam to sit back. He uses the opportunity to strip off his pants completely, which he must stand to do. Nick shuffles back to lean against the headboard so he’s half vertical.

And for the hundredth time since they met, Nick has to remind himself that this is really happening. Liam is really standing naked and rock hard at the foot of his bed, the tip of his cock smearing pre-come against the birthday sash that’s lying across his stomach. Watching with dark eyes as Nick opens the bottle and tips it into his hand, Liam tugs his erection once, then crawls back unto the bed. 

Nick wraps a slippery hand around Liam’s cock near the base then twists it upward, watching closely for his reaction. Sitting on Nick’s thighs, Liam tips his head back, mouth falling open. So Nick repeats the move, over and over, making sure to squeeze the head a little each time. As the tension and pace increases, Liam falls forward and grabs the top of the headboard with both hands so his toned chest is right in front of Nick’s face. Nick leans forward to lick the nipple he tweaked before, then he latches on to it, scraping the bud lightly with his teeth. Liam groans low in his throat, and it’s maybe the most erotic sound Nick’s ever heard.

“Close,” Liam moans. “How should–”

“God. On my chest. Please.”

“Shit, okay.”

Leaving one hand on the headboard, Liam drops the other to grasp his cock right underneath Nick’s grip. They pull him off together, Nick panting against Liam’s collarbone. After a few pumps, Liam lets go, leans back, and comes with a shout, spurting on Nick’s upper body, a few drops splashing back onto him and staining the sash. 

They stare at each other in something like shock, trying to get their breathing under control. Keeping his eyes on Liam’s, Nick reaches out with an index finger and dabs at a spot of come on his abdomen, then sucks it into his mouth. Liam examines him openly, and Nick is struck again by how not-anonymous this feels. Then he replaces Nick’s finger with his own mouth, peppering his lips and face with reassuring kisses that Nick didn’t even know he needed.

After a few minutes, Liam slides off and flops onto his back right next to him, staring up at the ceiling. If he trusted his legs, Nick would fetch some towels. Instead, he lazily pulls a soft, clean t-shirt from a drawer and wipes Liam down before tending to himself, Liam silently thanking him with his soft smile.

“I think we can agree,” Nick announces after a while. “That we are  _ both  _ amazing.”

Liam has the nerve to actually  _ giggle, _ and Nick might lock him in here and keep him forever. 

“Did you have a nice birthday, love?” he asks, turning on his side to face him.

“Don’t know how I’m going to top this one, actually,” Liam answers, tracing Nick’s cheekbone with the pad of his finger. Nick’s heart pounds away in his chest, because he realizes he’s already imagining how they’ll celebrate next year. How it might be nice to come home to somebody like Liam on nights like these, instead of treading water at a bar. Stupid feelings.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he whispers.

“Just one problem,” Liam says, looking down at his chest. “Was supposed to pass this thing to Niall. He’s turning 21 in a couple of weeks. Don’t suppose he wants it now.”

“It’s like a proper heirloom,” Nick laughs breathily, fingering the sash. “Bodily fluids and everything.”

Liam crinkles his nose in disgust and turns into Nick, nuzzling his shoulder. 

“Wait, wait,” Nick springs up. “Before you get comfortable…”

He pads out of the room, cock soft between his legs, and returns after a few seconds victoriously presenting a pair of scissors, smoothing out Liam’s confused expression. “Could’ve remembered these earlier, but I’m glad I didn’t to be honest.” He hovers over Liam, pulling the sash gently away from his torso and freeing him in one smooth cut. Liam arches his lower back up so Nick can slide it out from under him. “Looked so bloody sexy in this thing.”

Liam makes grabby hands as he tosses it away. And Nick snorts, charmed and baffled by how this boy is equal parts filthy and lovable. He turns and snaps off the light, then climbs back into bed and lets Liam wrap his warmth around him. His back is to Liam’s front, Liam’s arm slung over his torso, hand resting lightly on Nick’s stomach.

“I never asked, I’m sorry,” Liam whispers, fingers brushing against the patch of hair just under Nick’s belly button. “I shouldn’t just assume. Do you want me to stay? 

Nick slots his fingers between Liam’s and pulls their hands into his chest. He reckons he doesn’t have much choice in the matter anymore. Whether he leaves Nick’s bed tonight or not, Liam is going to stick.

“You know, the answer isn’t always yes. But yeah. Stay with me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I live on comments and kudos, if you're so inclined. And here's the [oblig Tumblr post](http://a-brighter-yellow.tumblr.com/post/178300339663/when-all-this-gets-old-by-abrighteryellow-nick)!


End file.
